Addiction

• Written by 

I fucking hate the things I talk about,
Drowning in the drops around me coming from my water spout,
People ask me all the time whats on my mind to hear me out,
But I never tell the best of it, fuck the benefit of the doubt,
 
Crowded with ideas and some theories of my own,
I try to better my go-getter self by breaking all my bones,
Let myself get stuck and fuck around my room until I eat,
Because I feel when I am self-fulfilling, I feel real complete,
 
Always on my feet when asked to do tasks in all of my classes,
The air I breathe's super smooth, my words are thick like molasses,
All the shit I see is clear to me, but maybe I need glasses,
Cause my words are heard absurdly when I'm speaking to the masses,
 
My friends are kissing ass, and as for me, myself, and I,
I try to find the time to write and watch the time supplied go by,
Ticking and tocking on the clock, I'm stocking up to go to war,
Because my lyrics tend to send my competition to the floor,
 
Fuck writing 'bout the money and the mansions and the whores,
If that shit was really true, men in blue knockin' at your doors,
I disrespect the intellect of y'all injecting all your fiction,
Cause the wicked words I write is real, a deeper, dark depiction,
 
Maybe writing rap that happenin' is somewhat an addiction,
Maybe while life is flying by, writing it down can give it friction,
Maybe the mystery of who I am give's my lines no restriction,
Maybe I'm tryin' to find a way to stay the same, no definition,
 
My thoughts are barely flowing, my emotion's rarely bleeding,
You will never hear my voice by choice, my rhymings just for reading,
Wanna blow up in the game and show that I am still succeeding,
So I gotta talk about my thoughts, because the rest of me is fleeting.

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About the Artist

ThC0nundrum
Member since January 9 2015

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